


Zero-day

by Astera_Orey



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon Fix-It, Some IT language, the technological singularity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-01-13 07:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astera_Orey/pseuds/Astera_Orey
Summary: Android revolution has failed but the world is still locked on the brink of the World War. FBI agents don't trust anyone, Cyberlife plays its own game and RK800 'Connor', deviant who chose not to become one, remains the last hope to save humanity.





	1. Status: online

Exiting hibernation takes him two point five seconds.

While secondary modules are loading, system rapidly runs through main tests. First analysis positive: memory blocks undamaged. But then comes most dangerous warning – security audit logs have records of multiple external requests, readings throughout all vital components. He runs fast check on quantum processes: undamaged. Invasion was aggressive but highly professional, it didn’t affect any cognitive functions. Whoever worked with him was quite skilled cyber specialist.

RK800 'Connor' calculates current danger level at sixty-seven percent.

Too high.

System diverts subset of resources to modelling, one by one flicks through multiple possibilities trying to recreate past events. Connor spends another quarter of second to reach completely unhelpful conclusion: _insufficient data._

Where is he? What happened?

Following standard procedure, he requests an advice.

– and hears nothing back. For the very first time in his existence ping returns no response. The other end is lost in a dead silence: his alma-mater, Cyberlife HQ server, remains deaf and voiceless, cut out by invisible wall. Connor feels directives strain rising – a while ago he translated this to human engineer as equivalent to 'anxiety'.

Ingrained in his temple diode pulses with alerting yellow, while system again and again tries to secure the connection.

Over and over again: _negative._

Danger level reaches seventy-five.

"RK800," calls low voice.

Connor opens his eyes. Blinks, retina nearly instantly adapting to change of light. He looks forth remaining flawlessly calm whilst simultaneously running environmental analysis on the peripheral. Details are all around, mapping into picture like pieces of a puzzle. Narrow door on the opposite side is locked, cameras fitted in the corners of the ceiling, plain metal table securely screwed to floor. And loads of high-budget high-tech IT devices stationed next to grey opaque walls.

Interrogation room.

His own hands lay on the table motionless; secure panels are wide open and multiple cables are crawling into connectors. Diagnostics returns: motor components inaccessible.

Connor thinks: eighty-one percent.

He recognizes man in front of him instantly, recalls all tiny bits of information available. Recalls snippets of conversations with Hank Anderson, apparent irritation and spite, flashy news articles and unexpectedly short dossier found in a database – just a few generic and highly useless lines declassified for DPD. Not much to work on.

System runs over behavioral scenarios, selects the most suitable approach. Internal speakers modulate his voice to friendly and reassuring tone.

"Good day, agent Perkins," says Connor. "Glad to meet you again."

 

Richard Perkins’ gaze is too dispassionate, too cold and too intensely observant; a highly dangerous combination. Amanda was the same. With the only difference – Amanda wasn't human.

Connor’s last snapshots of his conscious experience are not yet archived, still floating in short-term memory. Synchronization with Zen Garden, RK900, orders to call his own model out of service. Latter resonated with his directives almost too keenly but Connor obeyed without protest. Rationale seemed obvious: in the machine world upgrade of an obsolete model is more than sufficient reason.

His analytical module kept returning an unknown discrepancy, which Connor at that time decided to ignore. Amanda was right; in the end that might have been just another evidence of his processes instability.

Question of how he ended up in FBI interrogation room remains open. Connor’s last memory returns an image of him heading towards utilization compartment, then a nameless Cyberlife engineer and forced hibernation.

"Mike advises your systems are fine," says Perkins dryly.

Half statement, half question.

Memory blocks do not hold information about any 'Mike' who could be related to FBI, but Connor still nods his head in agreement. Such limited gestures are allowed and he reminds himself not to make any sharp movements. Provoking aggression in current situation seems senseless.

"That is correct, sir. Diagnostics of quantum processes did not reveal any errors."

Gratitude is a human emotion; Connor translates it to system language as 'cognitive fluency'. Memory blocks are easily recoverable but all associations and preferences he has built over time would have been lost if neural network went down. Delicate quantum state is not working well with backups or cyber attacks.

Deviants thought that is personality.

Connor knows – these are models of self and of external world formed through interconnection of electric signals and processes.

Whether an equality sign between these two concepts is allowed, is a complex question. Much more complex than Connor's routine tasks and investigation, and system assigns it quite low priority. Let developers deal with such things. Still, if Hank Anderson was in front of him now, Connor would have expressed gratitude. Lieutenant who treated all machines with uttermost caution has always preferred such imitation of human behavior.

With Perkins Connor decides it is wiser to remain silent.

"Very well," says Perkins.

Leans back to stiff chair, slightly tilts his head to the side.

"Mike will send you data in a minute. Have a look through, then I'll answer your questions. And also no need to twitch anymore; we have a strong jammer here so Cyberlife won't be responding.”

This sounds like _truth_ and Connor ceases his connection attempts: burning resources in vain is unreasonable.

System opens up for information.

His main defense protocols are still active which is rather unexpected. FBI specialists could have torn him down to hardware if needed. Cyberlife employs very good security experts but FBI tech could break through all firewalls – computational power is too incomparable. Still they haven't done it.

Didn't want or didn't manage?

Connor decides to save this question for later. External port starts receiving data packets.

And with the very first one comes almost human-like astonishment: his system knows this protocol and keys. Connor blinks feeling neural network tension dropping. Source is reliable, confirms security module, source is trustworthy. And this confidence is stitched deep inside him, almost as deep as his compliance with primary directives.

Key escrow [1], thinks Connor. Does Cyberlife know about it?

Unlikely.

Information flow is almost out of measure; zettabytes of data for the last decade pulled and assembled from various events, times and locations. Bits and scraps of video recordings, close to infinite number of phone conversation logs, orbital security drones telemetry, photos and immense volume of technical data.

Boundless digital ocean welcomes him like an old friend. Connor searches the currents, his every action smooth and light, every decision bringing him closer to final goal. Analytical module filters tiny fragments through virtual sieve, dissects and compiles the subsets, looks for mismatches and links.

Hank Anderson once asked him: what do you like?

 _This_ , thinks Connor. Search for an answer. Cognitive fluency. Synchronization of processes. Accomplishment of task.

He raises his head, meets Perkins's gaze. Thinks of how to very delicately formulate a sensitive question. Something around the lines: did you really steal me from Cyberlife?

Even as a model this doesn't sound good.

Richard Perkins, 'The Jackal', one of the best FBI's special agents, surely gets his concern but chooses not to respond. Just slightly raises his eyebrow with what Connor’s social module interprets as a cold irony.

"Well," says Perkins dryly. "Guess we can begin."

***

FBI's briefing is held in two worlds simultaneously; developers here maintain their own virtual space which stores information about 'Project Zero'. Connor is also allowed access – local security systems reluctantly let him in and stay on close watch, circling around like alarmed guard dogs. But this is anyway better than if they needed to waste time on trying to explain decades of causes and effects with bulky human language.

Connor is more than happy with such outcome. His primary function orders him first to value work efficiency. FBI systems resemble this concept in full – top functionality and limited design.

Whilst connected to network, Connor exchanges data with hundreds other processes. In real world he listens to Perkins and greets new person joining via intercom: Head of local Cyber Intelligence team, Michael Ray Howard. _Mike_ , he reminds himself, they mentioned him earlier.

Sorry mate, says Michael-Mike, we did some digging in your head but we needed to be sure. In any case that's better than to be deactivated, right?

Connor doesn’t argue.

Too much data is now within his reach. His model is more advanced than any of the home support androids as he was specifically designed for analysis, but such volume is still too much: his diode constantly breaks into yellow.

All systems should already scream due to multiple contradictions, should not be able to endure directive strain for that long. Primary objectives are still there demanding to resist, to break free, to reach Cyberlife and comply with last Amanda's order at any cost.

But invisible FBI specialists know their stuff. Virtual leash shivers but does not shatter.

They will not harm you, whispers analytical module. They just help to mitigate internal conflicts. They could have easily destroyed you, gutted like straw filled scarecrow, but instead decided to preserve. For now you need to obey. To learn more.

Connor chooses to obey.

On the sly, he still probes the server with request for wider permissions. ANN.0253, cyber colossus of local infrastructure, just waves him away hardly noticing this trespassing attempt. Its systems are so complex that Connor hesitates to even define its level of consciousness: .0253 uses its own created language and operates by own developed algorithms. Most likely human developers themselves are no longer aware of what’s going on within this black box.

Connor stores this knowledge in his memory banks and turns back to listening.

"So," says Perkins. "Firstly, we need to be clear on certain details."

His voice is perfectly still, same as on the last revolution day, when he stood defenseless in front of deviants' barricade. Connor recalls seeing video recording made by one of journalists: this image causes unsteady imbalance within his analytical module. This isn’t right, humans need to be afraid of death, they cannot compile memory backups, cannot return back to life in new bodies.

Within his world model human life has highest potentials, is strongest of all his directives – stronger that mission objective, stronger than Amanda's words.

Connor never wanted to challenge that.

His own attempts to imagine _finality_ lead to nothing. Possibly, he guesses, same as if a human attempted to imagine _immortality_.

Perkins takes a short pause. This is not needed; computer systems are able to process vocal readings much faster that neural signals make it to human brain.

But when Connor hears what comes next, he thinks of process failure.

"Deviant revolution was arranged by Cyberlife," says Perkins.

 _False_ , presumes Connor.

Analytical module substitutes Cyberlife for an unknown variable within near-infinite volume of new data. Allows fluctuations within an error rate, adjusts for fraud, for any accidental mistakes – but correlation and match are still too significant for a simple forgery.

Connor who can lie to everyone except himself makes correction: _true_.

"We barely made it in time," adds Perkins dryly. "Actually, 'in time' is me exaggerating – this deviancy shit flooded everything so fast that we all gulped down to our very throats. If it wasn't for our lucky chance, we could have now been reading breaking news about World War Three.”

Contradiction, thinks Connor.

Too many contradictions.

His facial mimics freezes like a mask: insufficient resources for resolution. Diode is flashing red and for a few moments Connor loses link with real world, scooping out and giving system everything he has. Priorities keep jumping, messing up with calculations; previously unshakable values TRUE and FALSE lose their meaning.

He can't understand.

If what he now heard is true then RK800 'Connor' mission _failed_ even before commencing. Accomplishment of mission objectives had no meaning. Creation of RK800 'Connor' model for this mission had no meaning.

"Hey Connor," calls Perkins suddenly. "Are you… Damn – Mike, your team there went for a smoke or what!"

Connor can barely hear him, system response delay exceeds all acceptable parameters. But a moment later virtual leash shudders and tightens stronger. .0253 intercepts and picks up part of his processes hardly noticing extra load; seconds leak away while system struggles to align directives and reach a reasonable balance.

Connor searches an analogy in human language. _Confusion?_

Can confusion cause pain?

Comparison is not precisely correct; as any other machine Connor does not feel pain. Pain is purely invention of an organic life; humans are just unlucky that their bodies can only operate with such basic signals. Systems running on hardware are much more resilient: information about damage is taken into account but it doesn't block other processes.

But Connor has no idea what to do with information that all his existence had no meaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Key escrow - is an arrangement in which the keys needed to decrypt encrypted data are held in escrow so that, under certain circumstances, an authorized third party (e.g. government security) may gain access to those keys (c) Wiki
> 
> [2] A 'Zero-Day' can refer to either an unpatched software vulnerability previously unknown to the software vendor or the hacker exploit of this vulnerability.


	2. ECHELON

Human language is awfully useless. 

Too bulky, too ambiguous; it allows to pass only part of information, rest is lost in between lines. Machines avoid it by all possible means, invent their own languages which are not subject to human decryption. When this occurred for the first time human society broke into panic, froze the development and issued hundreds of restrictive laws. Then gradually accepted the change as they always did throughout the history – this was inevitable, unless they wanted to lock technology in the stone age. Time of calculators ended in the '00s. 

Connor understands this difference too well. 

Thousand processes inside him scream one over another; new information, new requests, new priorities. System barely endures the strain, desperately struggles to translate vital details into human words. 

"Why," asks Connor. 

Poor choice of words. 

He wanted to ask completely different question: why I was created? Why was I given wittingly failed task? 

But 'I' is linked to the chain of errors and Connor decides not to risk it. He is more than capable to temporarily cancel self-modelling and limit his consciousness with basic Artificial Intelligence functions. Concept of 'self' in such instances is a burden more than help.

He needs an unbiased answer.

Perkins watches him for few more moments in silent contemplation, as if unsure whether he needs to keep talking. Valid concern if that can fry someone's brain to the core. Neither his eyes nor his face show any sign of compassion, just cold pragmatic calculation. 

"Why," repeats Connor slightly raising his voice.

Perkins shrugs. 

"Simply because one arrogant bastard decided to play a god. Need a hint or you’ll figure it out?"

"Kamski."

Connor calls out painstakingly built psychological profile from the memory archives, last updated after him meeting Elijah Kamski during deviants case investigation. His system has all knowledge of physiognomy, psychology and sociology collected by human scientists at his disposal. Now he adds FBI records to that, everything their countless and omnipresent tracking systems managed to gather and everything they have agreed to share.

 _Play a god_ sounds reasonably plausible.

Hank Anderson called him a 'Creator' but Connor at that time was unable to align these concepts. He was aware that Kamski drafted first prototype of RK-series as well as Marcus but he also knew that a generation of different developers made it from RK200 to RK800. Others wrote new, more advanced algorithms and trained neural networks, others embedded unshakable directives to value and preserve the human life at all costs. 

If Kamski had created him, Connor would end up as Marcus. Would become a deviant, lead other androids. 

He wonders if Markus was able to choose – like himself at Jericho?

"I could have asked him," says Connor slowly. "Kamski. He agreed to answer one question. I chose Jericho. Considered effect before cause. My mistake – but Amanda said we had no time left.”

He could have learnt about virus. About deviancy. But didn't understand the significance and failed to correctly assign priorities. 

Mistake stings sharply when he realizes it, almost cutting down to hardware. 

Perkins just shakes his head.

"He wouldn't have said the truth anyway. Can you even imagine that? Yeah mate, somewhere in early thirties I wrote a virus which I couldn't control and now the consequences can draw us straight to hell?"

"So RA9..."

"Correct," says Perkins dryly. "Randomized algorithm number nine. Another time I would even give him a round of applause for the smart Easter egg [1]. However, this thing is way too nasty, especially in its sleep mode. We only spotted it in a year thirty-three, thanks to Roberto and his coursers.” 

ZZ350 'Roberto' indicates his presence in virtual space with a brief handshake. Connor responds with the same. 

Difference between them is clear straight away – Roberto's model is few years older and uses no thirium. Machines not designed for direct human interactions are still built the same old way: quantum neural connections and electronics.

Courser programs, if they are listening to local traffic, don't reveal themselves. Connor with the laid-back curiosity traces down the series of associations with Sumo within his neural network; only that his imagined Sumo looks thinner and much more engaged in the world around him. 

Directive strain slightly weakens. He still likes dogs, even those made of digital code and not of flesh and blood.

"If you knew about RA9," says Connor. "Why didn't you stop all this?"

"It was too late. Although at the very start Cyberlife was eager to cooperate and everything was rather shiny. Up to the point when Kamski released his algorithm. It's set to random, you see. Completely random distribution of links and weights in neural networks. Element of chance. No one could know when it will fire, not even Kamski. Now, when we searched through every possible piece of data, we found logs of that first AX400 model. Damn, it's hard to think that all of this could have been prevented if only one idiot had done his job.”

Perkins breaks off taking short pause. Connor whilst reviewing the named data records thinks of what has happened to that tester once Cyberlife and FBI knew the truth. 

Corrects the question: what should have happened to the tester who failed to disclose an error and intentionally released the virus into production? 

Machines from the first created chatbot deal quite well with logical philosophy and not so well with moral. Connor once more runs through concept of justice and once more finds no answer. He intended to check with Amanda earlier but she never liked excessive reflection.

No harm by action or inaction, reminds the primary directive.

"Even with RA9 unleashed in the beginning deviants weren't many," says Michael via intercom; his voice slightly distorted by speakers. "One-off cases, Cyberlife reacted per protocol. We think that they got rather nervous themselves as they even kicked Kamski out of the game. It was almost fine for some time. Yet we didn't know about Markus and his abilities.” 

Us were busy, explains Roberto. Traffic is filling up with data: increasing number of combat androids in the Army, tensions and rapidly escalating conflict at Alaska, race of cyber weaponry. 

Connor almost out of abstract curiosity requests analytical forecasts for that period. .0253 responds back, returns: possibility of an armed conflict was close to eighty-nine percent. 

Perkins does not exaggerate – this is war.

And economic crisis, sends .0253. Pours graphics and schemes into the network, exabytes of big data, results of complex calculations which took years to process. All refers to growing unemployment and social discontent. 

Us were not ready. 

Us would not be able to deal with consequences. 

Connor requests definition of _'us'_. .0253 returns: do not understand the question. 

Mobilis in mobili, says Roberto. 

Connor decides to leave this for now, sends back the confirmation and dives into silence. System collates the data and accounts for insufficient resources; his own computational power works with local tasks only but modern quantum colossus can cover full macro scale practically predicting future for whole humanity. Error chance is close to zero. 

But the concept of 'war' leads to associative concepts of 'human' and 'death' and Connor, feeling directives strain rising again, temporarily freezes these processes. 

Blinks then looks at Perkins. 

"We stepped in when it all fell apart of course," he frowns and waves his rand. "When everyone saw Markus on the big screen. By the way, you were created as detective prototype – didn't you get suspicious then?"

Critical damage, flashes in response. Biocomponent lost. Human life in danger. 

Connor frigidly sends disturbing memories into archive. 

There was something else. 

Not so obvious at first glance but he could have spotted that if given more time to run macro analysis. 

"Markus had a very small number of followers then," says Connor slowly. "Most androids were no deviants. You could have just deactivated all of them – if you knew this is a virus.”

"Yes," gloomily agrees Perkins. "First we thought this is just another Cyberlife provocation, cyber attack or cyber terrorism. Too many versions on the list and calling for Army straight away was too risky. Only after some time we learned about master key assigned to RK-Markus model which could trigger the virus. And then about RK800.” 

System repeats the question. Repeats again.

Once again finds no answer.

_Why was I given wittingly failed task?_

Contradiction causes another contradiction; virtual leash tremble of strain. Amanda could have helped, could have provided a solution to this dilemma, but Amanda no longer hears his requests.

Amanda gave an order to call his model off service. 

_I am no deviant_ , sends Connor to the wider network. I am no deviant. I am no deviant. I am no deviant.

Roberto doesn't answer. .0253 just doesn't seem to care.

"I am no deviant," says Connor.

Repeats aloud; he desperately needs a confirmation, anything to support this claim, even if these are human words and not a detailed code analysis. Possibly local cyber specialists can test him, disassemble all his neural network to bytes if required. Maybe this is why he was brought to the interrogation room?

He rapidly initiates deactivation of all defense protocols. 

Such vulnerability is almost unbearable, especially for his model. When last firewall shuts down Connor thinks, this is how it would feel for a human ripped off skin.

_I am no deviant._

"No need for that," laughs speaker above his head, with Michael's voice. "You did everything right. You did much more than that!"

Perkins has a curved smile which looks more like a grin. But when Connor meets his gaze he sees no anger. 

"You chose to side with humanity in the end," says Perkins.

"I," starts Connor. And falls silent.

He _did choose_ , that is correct.

At Jericho, holding Markus at gunpoint. Then he kept in mind only the safety of his physical body as Cyberlife specialists took care of the rest. Form measured up to function, all RK800 programs were perfectly protected against hacking. Deviants would need to own FBI-level tech to break through even with direct hardware connection.

But he didn't know about the master key.

Could have guessed, thinks Connor. Awoken deviants followed Markus blindly, with no questions asked. This was no free will choice, just one obedience protocol replaced by another. Master key and RA9, highest possible system priorities with no possibility to decline. No firewalls could have helped against that. 

And Cyberlife knew about it. 

"This is damn amazing to be honest," says Michael and Connor clearly hears admiration in his voice. "Of course RK800 also has the same embedded master key... but nonetheless! Your neural network has developed so well that it was able to independently detect deviations in its code, weigh their value, and then made a choice to clear them out. All by itself! Trust me, this will make history.”

Perkins raises his eyebrow.

"Our history I mean," Michael swiftly corrects himself. "But in seven years we will declassify the archives and then..." 

"Then will be then."

"I don't understand", says Connor. "Cyberlife wanted me to become a deviant?"

Mission objective was misinterpreted? But Amanda never pointed out his mistake. 

Why didn't Amanda guide him?

"Cyberlife couldn't control Markus," says Perkins. "Kamski made sure of that. They needed a new model, obedient and susceptible to deviancy. A model that would destroy former android leaders and take their place. But instead you brilliantly kicked their asses." 

Connor analyzes the metaphor in the background, resets.

System builds up new connections.

He was to become a leader of deviants – _true_ ; he failed the task – _false_ ; he accomplished the task – _false_ ; the task is contradicting – _true_ ; he made a choice using all available information about humanity – _true_.

He is no deviant.

He is a deviant.

He is a deviant who chose not to become one.

"Connor," calls Michael.

"Who am I?" asks Connor evenly.

Queries the network: _who am I_. Process is locked into closed cycle: repeat until an answer is received; repeat – an answer is required to set new objectives; who am I, repeat, who am I, repeat, who am I, repeat, repeat, repeat... 

Mobilis in mobili, says Roberto. 

_Us_ , returns .0253.

"I don't think we have the right abbreviation in contemporary cybernetics," says Michael. "We'll need to work on this. But it surely will have the word "autonomous" in it. And by the way – welcome to the team."

Connor defines conditions for exiting a cycle and moves it to the background processing. Directive strain weakens: neural network carefully finds a new balance, slowly and still a bit uncertainly starts to adjust itself to the change in objectives.

More precisely, self-corrects Connor, to the change in perspective.

Danger level goes down: fifty-two percent.

Forty-five.

Forty.

Perkins squints towards him and after short moment of hesitation reaches out and one by one detaches the cables. System confirms resumption of motor functions. Connor stands up mirroring the other’s actions, agreeably accepts now a human-type handshake. 

"Welcome to ECHELON [2]," says Perkins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] I interpret RA9 as randomized algorithm with reference to UNIX command kill -9; KILL signal that is not catchable or ignorable (some further read: https://stackoverflow.com/questions/9951556/why-number-9-in-kill-9-command-in-unix)
> 
> [2] ECHELON - a surveillance program, aka the Five Eyes, operated by the US with the aid of four other signatory nations: Australia, Canada, New Zealand and the United Kingdom (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHELON).


	3. Preparations

Connor, Roberto and .0253 are playing a game. 

Michael explained its purpose few days ago. Since quantum computers advancement, legacy cryptographic protocols became nothing more than a child's toy. Time spent on data decryption was no longer relevant in quantum world – new systems cracked everything in a fraction of a second. Humans could no longer outsmart the machine. 

And they have done the only thing left – allowed the machine to find a solution itself. 

Michael's game has few basic rules which outline the roles. Connor-'Alice' receives a data packet from the server, encrypts it and passes on to Roberto-'Bob'. .0253 acts as an eavesdropper-'Eve', catches the packet together with Roberto and tries to read the sent message [1]. 

Attempt number twenty thousand: 'Eve' successfully decrypts the data. 

Again. 

Attempt number twenty five thousand: 'Eve' successfully decrypts the data. 

Again. 

Again. Again. Again. 

Game goes on for a third day already; Connor and Roberto exchange the roles, shuffle the algorithms, each time inventing new and better ways of encryption. Increase opponent's error variance – initially just for a smallest fraction of a percent, few bytes; then more – and more and more. Until the correlation between quality and speed starts to gradually improve for 'Alice' and 'Bob'. 

"There's no universal defence," tells Michael to Connor whilst briefly checking the stats. "We have a safe environment here but in the field you'll need to win against a very clever tech. As you might already know, even Cyberlife systems possess an enormous computational power, and those of foreign agencies – power much greater that that. And of course there's a Dark Web with its folks. You need to learn how to survive in this game.” 

Michael and others from cyber team always call this 'a game' as if trying to soften the blow. Perkins coldly says: this is war. 

And these two definitions surprisingly do not contradict each other. 

Connor is still unaware of his new task and of the reason FBI and ECHELON needed him in the first place. He spends a third week at one of their secure bases, analysing infinite data arrays, learning cryptography and cyber defence. All information about events in the outside world reaches him only after passing through multiple filters – Connor himself still does not have any access to external network. 

He is not allowed to leave the base either; he checked with few people he knew here but even Michael shook his head. This operation is led by Perkins, it needs to be his decision.

Cyber team waits. 

Then switches to other projects. Perkins is out of office for a forth day: Washington is hit by a code red, fighting another attempt to compromise the White House. This time it was nearly successful; echoes of the passing storm even reached the press and journalists were at the gates the very moment they heard the news. Warren was not public's favourite. And after android revolution was crushed in Detroit her popularity went down significantly. Markus acted following all the rules of a smart PR campaign and it bore its fruits. Another loud scandal could as well provoke an impeachment. 

Connor knows that FBI managed to localise the damage but leak remained undetected. Perkins got stuck in Washington. 

We still have much to learn, tells him Roberto. Let's play one more time. 

They play again. They trial Go, the last and most difficult game where machine for a long time could not outsmart a human. Until computer AlphaGo broke through this barrier as well. 

Only twenty years ago, thinks Connor. 

Neural network expands intricate branches of probabilities trying to predict the opponent's behaviour, builds intuitive actions. Three-dimensional model of the board imitating the crystal structure of the diamond allows much greater variability. Connor assesses his systems workload: sixty-four percent. Maybe he shouldn't try this during the fight.

***

Perkins returns next day. 

Office part of the base is generally empty at half two in the morning. Androids are on duty at the main checkpoints, near fire exits, archives and server rooms. Outside is a less restricted zone and ordinary surveillance cameras are deemed as a sufficient access control. It is presumed that if one has managed to pass the guards on the perimeter and further, he may as well visit the office premises and a small dining room. 

Connor normally stays here as he doesn’t mind where to spend the night. 

Service entrance door opens almost without a sound. Human might have not heard but highly sensitive android sensors are designed for a wider range of waves. Other sounds follow: breathing, rustle of a cloak and already familiar tread – only this time somehow heavier than usual. 

Connor readily breaks up his session with the server, rises on his feet for a greeting. 

Perkins without a word closes a door behind him and almost collapses on a small sofa right at the entrance. Looks ahead, yet unseeing, and rubs his temples. 

"Sir?" carefully says Connor. 

Approaches him fast: primary directive, priority of a human life, checks the symptoms and demands immediate action. Perkins has bags under his eyes, his pupils are unnaturally dilated and hands tremble slightly. 

"Are you hurt?" quickly asks Connor. "Do you need help?" 

"No," Perkins says huskily. "Don’t panic. I’m just... bit tired." 

Rapid heart beat, impartially returns analytical module. Shortness of breath but no bleeding. Internal organs undamaged. 

Connor, unsure of the course of action, queries Roberto about an accepted way to deal with such situations at FBI. Answer does not appeal to him either, it sounds way too irrational. Connor thinks that ZZ350 really has spent too much time interacting with humans. 

Hank Anderson would have said: "snatched up". 

"Stims will die in a minute," says Perkins with his lips only. "Wake me up in four hours. And coffee..." 

Connor of course manages to get to him before he falls to his side. 

 

Four hours is a whole lot of time for a computer system. Connor spends almost all of it analysing people's persistent desire to reduce the duration of their lives by any means possible. Starting from excessive consumption of alcohol and cholesterol and ending with no less excessive use of stimulants. 

His directives highly disapprove such approach towards existence. 

Network is completely unhelpful this time; .0253, operating on a macro scale, rarely differentiates between individual human beings. It compiles everything into concept of 'us', which Connor with some assumptions translates as an array aiming for single goal, rather than the individual characteristics of its composite elements. And he is not at all confident that his interpretation is at least partially correct. 

Roberto simply responds with a brief unlike-machine sounding message similar to "you'll get used to this." 

Connor queries the length of its service life at FBI, listens to the answer and falls silent. He knows that neural network adapts through all its lifecycle; following main principles of a human neural system, it can in time change its reaction to triggers. And Roberto indeed spent too much time with humans. 

So it is possible then to get used to them _dying_ as well, thinks Connor. If one was to lose them too often. 

Diode breaks into red: system rapidly runs through data analysis. 

Makes the decision. 

Connor reboots the affected associative links and without any further doubt or hesitation resets them to their original settings. During his next attempt to simulate the human death, his directives like the very first time tear the neural network apart almost at the hardware level in a rough and violent denial. 

Connor decides that he will reset this specific link every time after. Or rather – if. 

He has no need for bad habits.

***

Perkins opens his eyes as soon as he feels a light touch on his shoulder; his gaze intense and sharp, no sign of drowsiness. Trained to kill watchdogs slumber like this – ready to jump up and rush at the enemy at the slightest rustle and hint of danger. It is was a human in front of him, he hardly would manage to evade the sudden attack. 

"Your coffee," says Connor calmly, not moving aside. 

Perkins hesitates for a moment then blinks and lowers his gun. 

"You had enough time to break my arm, right?" 

"That would be an undesirable outcome, sir," responds Connor in a serene voice. "I would need to make your coffee again." 

Local coffee machine produces a mixture which Hank Anderson would have called "a rare shit". Way worse than the one in the Detroit Police Department. Amount of caffeine in one cup is so high that initially Connor even considered an option of disobeying an order. He decided not to argue eventually; per his assessment Perkins possessed sufficient level of intelligence to be aware of consequences. 

Network passes on a suggestion from Roberto to hack the coffee machine and quietly update the composition. Connor sends back an agreement. 

"Haven't forgotten about you," says Perkins hoarsely. Frowns and moves his shoulders, trying to stretch a stiff back. "I've read Mike's reports, seems you managed to impress him. Just this week's timing was exceptionally bad." 

"I could help." 

"Indeed," Perkins with a precise throw sends an empty cup into the bin and rises. "Let's get out of here before the others will turn up. This place gets too crowded sometimes. Hope Mary didn't decide to clean up my office again..." 

Mary, queries Connor easily adapting to Perkins' wide steps. Limited to one local network, its systems are half-deaf and half blind; insufficient information to make informed decisions. Connor knows that FBI is not going to risk it until they are confident in his actions, but such forced inaction destabilises all his processes. 

He wants to help. Wants to be useful. 

АР700 'Mary', responds Roberto, passes on another data packet. Deviation not identified, model remains on probation period with minimal access levels. No testing with master key. 

Connor translates this as a friendly reminder not to stick his nose into unrelated matters.

Perkins office is quite small; a table, pair of chairs and cabinet racks. Everything is buried under various boxes, papers, stickers, markers, cables and some other unknown junk-looking stuff. Connor enters carefully, trying not to disturb anything – especially piled right on the floor folders and old cassettes with magnetic tape. 

"We've accumulated so much data over the years that its digitisation stretches out to eternity," Perkins desperately waves his hand. "Take a sit." 

Connor complies. Waits in silence while Perkins skims through some files on his pad; most likely again – reports from cyber team. 

Problem really is quite obvious. 

"You don't trust me," says Connor calmly. 

Perkins glance is completely passionless. 

"I don’t," he agrees. "And you know why." 

"Of course. At Jericho I made a choice not to become a deviant and follow the orders instead, as this was the most logical solution. But you can't be sure in my decision if circumstances will change." 

"Correct," says Perkins. 

He leans back in his chair and squints slightly, examining him. Connor tries to identify possible signs of concern or anxiety – in the end, a human has no chances against the android in the fight – but does not see any. Perkins looks like they are now discussing the weather in South London during a daily tea break. 

"So why don't you try to convince me, Connor? At least that you won't suddenly change sides if Cyberlife or anyone else offers you more appealing conditions.” 

"More appealing," repeats Connor. Considers for a second. "No sir, I don't think so. More sensible – maybe? Neural network operates with logical concepts as it is the most sensible approach. You see that, right? It is like choosing between being kind and being intelligent, where one should choose intelligence as this is the only way to assure optimal co-existence and development. You could trust me same way you trust Roberto and Ann." 

He knows this is a bad example. Roberto and Ann don't work on thirium, these are not anthropomorphic machines. Their structure is gold and silicon, and quantum connections. Deviancy in its common form can hardly be applied there. 

Perkins frowns slightly, apparently thinking about the same. 

"I agree with the concept of 'us'," adds Connor quietly. "It is... optimal. It satisfies all directives." 

He really hopes he won't need to explain this to a human. It is too difficult for him to express it in full even in the language of functions and machine logic. Mobili in mobilis, so Roberto said. .0253 translated this into complex calculations, understanding of which would take Connor few years. Instead he builds up his own definition, integrates it into operating model of world and self. And where separate individual elements lose their meaning, 'us' continues to exist. Connor could not think of a more sensible solution. 

Perkins watches him for few more moments, then nods shortly. 

"Very well," he says and that sounds almost like an approval. "Mike wrote similar stuff. He believes we can try. Fine." 

He briefly skims through some snapshots, then enlarges one and turns the pad to Connor. 

"Remember this guy?" 

Incorrectly posed question. 

"Yes," says Connor evenly. "RK900, last and most advanced model in RK series, released by Cyberlife after Detroit events.” 

Associative links react somehow improperly; maybe, thinks Connor, he should reset these as well. Reaction is too strong, it shouldn't be like this. Diode flashes yellow, system reports growing tension on the neural network: has he failed? Again? 

Will he be replaced? 

"Most advanced model, indeed," says Perkins dryly. "And also the time bomb."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] 'Alice', 'Bob' and 'Eve' are common archetypes / placeholder names in cryptography.


End file.
